


Even in Death

by intangibly_yours



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Lots of Angst, Part 2 has the Sexual Content, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intangibly_yours/pseuds/intangibly_yours
Summary: There is no resurrection shrine. A new Hero is born. And the boy that saves her is not the one she loves. [Cross-posted on FF.net]
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Other Link/Zelda
Comments: 115
Kudos: 181





	1. He Who Is Not Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [AshleysWrittenWords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshleysWrittenWords) and [embyr-75](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/246875/embyr-75) for proofreading for me! You wonderful, wonderful souls.

The crackling of the fire almost falls dead to her ears. For a century, she had sat in a whirling miasma loud as sandstorms and suffocating as volcanic ash. Everything in comparison is too quiet, yet every other sensation is too much. She can feel each grain of the dirt beneath her shins and each strand of hair against her nape. The flames before her are blinding, the heat scalding. Breathing now is difficult and eating impossible. The smell of their dinner would have made her vomit had she had anything in her stomach _to_ vomit, even though _(or maybe because of)_ the scent brings her back a hundred years.

Link is sitting across from her, but she can barely look at him.

He is not _her_ Link.

This Hero looks to be about seventeen or eighteen. His hair is a dark brown and not the deep blond she once ran her fingers through; the strands too short and swept in an unfamiliar way. The eyes that look at her are blue, but not the right shade of blue—not the luxurious azure of a cloudless sky. His nose is less pointed and the angle of his jaw is sharper than the one she used to cradle within her hands. In his presence, she feels a hum of what used to be hers, but it is not enough, and she all but despises him for teasing her with what could have been.

But dressed in the Hero’s green, she cannot deny that he showed astounding courage, braving the wild to rescue Hyrule from Calamity, to rescue a girl he did not know from a prison she was withering in. With her guidance, he traversed plains, desert, mountains, air. He completed over a hundred shrines and pulled the Sword that Seals the Darkness from the pedestal she had returned it to. She, too, stayed steadfast during his journey. Through Hylia’s grace and sheer willpower alone, she contained Calamity even as it thrashed relentlessly against her hold upon the unsealing of the Master Sword. She had been, in all essence, the incarnate of the Goddess Hylia, bearer of the Triforce. The very goddess she was not able to be for her people a hundred years prior, for her champions, for _him._

She remembers everything. The weight of his lifeless body. The scent of singed flesh. Her voice, hoarse from crying.

_“Open your eyes! Wake up, Link!”_

Her knees draw closer to her chest.

She can feel cobalt eyes train on her and their intensity is painfully familiar and all at once not. Hylia’s powers are fading and with them, it seems, her courage, as she cannot bring herself to meet his gaze. Stare too deeply and she might just find the reminiscent soul she’s yearning for and she cannot bear to see the contempt he surely feels for her now.

During her hundred year stasis, she was alone in body but not in spirit. The figures of her previous selves emerged one by one to keep her grounded and to block out the shrieks of Calamity that would otherwise ring in her ears. She learned their history, saw their pasts. Listened to the tales of the Hero and the Princess and their destiny to win wars though not always battles. Lingering tones of sadness told her they sometimes lost more than just brawls.

 _Did you ever lose him,_ she had asked. 

Silence. A beat. Then, _Not to death._

And nothing could console that truth.

“Princess,” the Hero speaks and her flinch is poorly suppressed. She sinks further into her knees but offers no verbal response. “Is the food not to your liking?”

She glances at the bowl sitting next to her feet and wills away the tears before they can even form. It contained a creamy heart soup meant to invigorate but be light on the stomach. She hadn’t even attempted to taste it before she set it down. She didn’t need to. It’d be more sweet than it is savory due to the natural sugars from the hydromelon and wildberries, but the radish added an extra zest to it and the goat milk would tie it all together. It was a favorite of hers, and Link, _her_ Link, her Knight, used to make it often; stoic as he was, he never failed to spoil her. The way the radish is cut to resemble a heart is also something uniquely of his doing. It was his way of saying, _My heart is yours._

And it can’t possibly mean that now.

So how does she voice that it isn’t so much her liking or her lack of hunger, but rather the memory, both hers and the Hero’s, that had her pushing the dish away? Because certainly this kind of precision didn’t blossom from coincidence. It’d be endearing if it wasn’t already tearing at her soul.

She answers, “No.”

He sighs but doesn’t seem deterred. She’s aware she’s being difficult despite the consideration he has shown her, but there is an anger in her that has yet to be tempered. Funny how 100 years as a goddess didn’t make her curse them any less.

It takes him a moment before he tries again. “You said you’ve been watching me. For how long?”

She still doesn’t look at him. “Just enough.” 

“I, uh,” he hesitates, as if admonishing himself, “don’t know what that means?”

She contemplates how to keep it concise, reminds herself that he is just a kid who Impa probably ordered to ensure her safety. “I felt your presence enter the world when you were born but waited until Hylia told me the time was right to call on you. Time itself, as you might have guessed, flowed differently for me.” Her brows furrow as a thought comes to her. “Tell me, Hero. How old were you when you pulled the Sword that Seals the Darkness?”

There is a rustle of his clothes. “Seventeen.”

She finally looks up and observes him then. Examines his expression, his demeanor. The way he immediately glances elsewhere at her sudden attention and the fidget of his fingers. So unlike the poise of her Link and she can’t help but wonder if her Knight would have been more like this had he heeded his calling later. Such a large burden for a boy merely twelve years of age. The man that came to serve her was so subdued. Even after he began to open up to her, his words remained measured and his touch careful. She wonders, had they learned sooner to carry their destiny together, if the lines on his face would’ve been less weary and he could have smiled at her without the threat of their last day always looming in his mind. If they had been victorious, how freeing would he have become without the weight of the world on his shoulders?

Their time together had been too short, and she wasted the first half treating him with disdain.

Her eyes catch the questioning gaze of the Hero and the irony did not escape her. It is neither his fault nor was it his desire to be thrusted into a destiny unfulfilled. Surely she has more humility now than she did back then. If her Knight could see her now, would he be laughing at her?

She can almost hear him chuckling, _Go on, Zelda._

One, two, three deep breaths. She toys with the hem of her dress as she apologizes for her impertinent manners. He awkwardly shrugs it off, ignores any protest she might have had, and offers her a meek smile. “What will you do now, Princess?”

She purses her lips at the change of topic but humors him anyway. It is the least she can do.

“I would like to reacquaint myself with all the Gerudo, Goron, Rito, and Zora leaders. We used to all work together before...before the castle fell.” She looks in the vague direction from which they came. “I think rebuilding the kingdom might be in order. Hylia’s first incarnate descended from the sky to build Hyrule. It’s only proper to have it rise and prosper once again.” What she says next, she isn’t sure she wants. “I will become queen if that’s what it takes to unite the people.”

And she sighs because all she really wants to do is rest. She has had plenty of time to consider what her next actions will be after the downfall of Calamity Ganon, but the people of this land hardly knew her, and she, them. What kind of queen does not know her people?

 _You will be a wonderful queen,_ he had told her once, when they were still just Knight and Princess and he was still the bane of her existence; she never admitted how much more value it gave his words. He didn’t speak then, his message delivered via a small piece of parchment left on her desk after one of her father’s brutal lectures. She kept it pressed alongside a Silent Princess within one of her texts.

 _I would be honored to serve Queen Zelda,_ he whispered in her ear, one hand cupping her face and the other pressed against the small of her back. It was during one of her failed visits to the Springs, where he came to scoop her out of the water and cease her self-deprecating thoughts. _I will serve no other but you._

Before, when she thought herself as queen, she figured she would be sustaining Hyrule’s prosperity, not rebuilding it from the ground up. Before, she thought she would have her father to guide her and her champions to support her. Before, she imagined her Appointed Knight standing next to her, possibly, hopefully, as more than just a knight. 

But that dream had been crushed by the beam of a Guardian’s laser. She watched the last of that dream die in her arms, felt the slowing of his heartbeat. Her name was the last breath from his lips.

If she becomes queen now, what will she be the queen of?

_A throne of nothing._

“They’re all very friendly,” the Hero’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Prince Sidon and King Dorephan are very hospitable. Teba, Harth, and Kenali of the Rito are resourceful.” He’s counting off names with his fingers. “Yunobo, Bludo, and the rest of the Gorons are as dedicated as can be. The Gerudos are admirable, and Riju is very humble.” He pauses briefly as if assessing his words. “I think you would get along well with all of them. Especially Riju.”

He goes into more details about the people he met, and his whole face lights up as he recounts his experiences, most of them being a series of misadventures. How he tried to sneakily gather lightning arrows but ended up having to fight the lynel anyway, how he conned some poor sap into giving him sand boots, how he kept encountering odd jobs until whole towns knew him. It has her shoulders relaxing and shaking with mirth. She remembers witnessing a handful of those events, but others are new to her, and somewhere along the line, nostalgia permeates. His stories, his behaviors, remind her too closely of…

“Link was like that too—well liked and popular amongst everybody he met. Except maybe Revali.” She giggles fondly at the memory, “I agreed with him at first but I’m not sure why he still disliked you at the end.”

And then she freezes, all laughter dying as she catches her mistake. The prickling in her eyes is instant.

The air is palpable around them as horror seeps into her skin. All this time she has been trying to hold herself together and stave off the torture of what her predicament truly indicated. Yes, they defeated Calamity. Yes, their main quest has been completed. In the end, their destiny came in a full circle. She is still the Princess, and he, the Hero. 

Just not the Hero she wants.

“I’m sorry that I’m not him.”

His words come as a shock to her, ice in her veins. She stands and turns with half the mind to run away, to escape from this boy who is not hers. She’s tired of being who she is, because who she is lost everyone, and who she is brought in someone new as if her Link is replaceable, and he is _not_. But she keeps her feet planted on the ground, toes digging into her ruined sandals. Her breath catches and pulls when she audibly breathes out, her quiet anger once again resurfacing. And then she asks him if he knows, if the Hero really understands why this destiny has been placed upon him. 

“It’s because I failed him,” she all but shouts, “He _died_ protecting me because _I couldn’t unlock my powers in time_.” She whirls back around and meets his bewildered gaze, and unshed tears accumulate on her lower eyelids. Her blurred vision is almost placating. “I loved him more than anything, yet I could not save him. And you being here is the very manifestation of that failure.”

The boy looks stunned, expectedly so. Her abrupt actions has caused him to stand as well, and he fumbles around until his hand finds the Master Sword. He looks down questioningly at it, and then looks back at her. What a terrible reminder it is that she can no longer hear its voice.

His expression betrays his nervousness, like he’s afraid to overstep his boundaries. “I think…” he gulps, watchful and timid eyes analyzing her reaction, “I think he loved you too.” The boy’s grip on the hilt of the sword tightens. “No, he definitely loved you. Still loves you, if the feelings in this sword mean anything.”

Her brows knit together and her heart speeds frantically within her chest. Is her Knight trying to speak to her? Does he really...not blame her?

In that instant, there is a flicker of recognition in his eyes and she sees _him,_ her Link, in his Champion tunic with that small smile reserved for her. His gaze on her is so soft and full of longing that she can’t stop her feet from propulsing forward. She reaches up and places a hand on his cheek and—

His skin is too soft.

The air gets knocked out of her and she has to curl her toes, tighten her abdomen, and grind her teeth to stop herself from dropping her hand. Dear Hylia, please don’t let him see her disappointment. He is innocent, he had _saved her,_ and she can’t stop hating him for it.

He looks startled but it doesn’t dissuade him from finishing his thoughts, and for that she is grateful because words have evaded her. He speaks carefully, as if unsure of what he’s saying.

“When I look at you, the sword almost seems to yearn for you. A part of me—even though we just met— _knows_ you.” A bitter laugh escapes her lips and he looks alarmed. “I’m sorry. It probably doesn’t make sense—or maybe it does because you’re a Goddess and I’m just being redundant and—”

“A vessel,” she interrupts, because it’s unbearable to reconcile how little he knows of her and the thrill and agony of her Knight still trying to comfort her beyond the grave. She hadn’t imagined that flicker in his eyes earlier, and she can’t decide if it makes their situation better or worse. Can’t decide if she wants to draw him out further or let him stay dormant. In actuality, he has done more than enough for her, hasn’t he? “And it’s not coming from the sword.”

The Hero leans his cheek into her hand as he cocks his head in confusion, and she sees the shades of blue battling around his pupils. Her tears nearly break loose.

_Link, Link, Link. Stay with me._

She swallows. “The Spirit of the Hero lies within you. The Link from Before has been guiding you. So do the Heroes before even him. The sword is merely a catalyst so that they are more prominent in your mind.”

A look crosses his face, one she’s seen on her Knight before, one he made peace with during a midnight rendezvous to her room. _It doesn’t matter where these skills come from as long as I can protect you._ His gaze on her was smoldering, his grip on her waist secure. _As long as you’ll have all of me, I’ll always be yours. That is the only identity I care to have._

All of him had not included the one standing before her when he said it. And she realizes that this is it, this is the moment she can free him from the burden the Sword had placed on him so many years ago, from the one her father had placed on him and she had selfishly continued to condone. He is no longer bound to her; technically, he never was, and she tells him so.

And, if she is being perfectly honest with herself, she doesn’t think she can tolerate being around this boy, this Hero, this reincarnation of the only man she’s ever loved, _loves,_ for any longer without breaking down into despair.

“Link,” she finishes, _begs_ , desperately, and wonders if the Hero can tell she’s not really speaking to him, “Just rest. You’ve done your duty.”

Something in his eyes flash, so much like _her Link,_ before his gaze softens and he offers her a sad smile. “I can’t.”

Her hand falls from his face. A counterargument bubbles in her throat but she knows that look; any protest she fires will be wasted breath. There was not a lifetime that went by where he didn’t give her that look at least once. Her Knight had worn the expression just moments before he kissed her for the first time, as if he had known their relationship was doomed from the start. 

_No. Stop._

She holds back a frustrated sob.

_You’re not him._

“I don’t know how to accept you,” she admits through gritted teeth. “This has never happened before.” And she curses the Goddesses for letting it happen now.

_Give him back to me._

“It’s okay,” he consoles, but she knows it’s not.

 _I’m not your Zelda,_ she wants to say, so she does, but in many more words and less accusatory. She knows the boy before her is not at fault for the cruelty of the Goddesses, and the thought makes her shoulder sag and suddenly she is devoid of the energy to continue their argument. Her fight can only last so long before it, too, dies out.

She grabs the bedroll and blankets and buries herself underneath it on the opposite side of the fire. Her fists clench beneath the covers and she wills herself silent even as the tears torrent down her cheeks. When she finally sleeps, she dreams of blond hair and sky blue eyes and the feel of his cheeks against hers. It almost feels real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be honest and tell you guys that part 3 and 4 are my favorites so stick with me until then.


	2. All of Me, I Give to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proofread by [AshleysWrittenWords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshleysWrittenWords) and [embyr-75](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/246875/embyr-75). You guys don't even know how much I pester them. Also, I bumped up the rating to _mature_ for the sexual content in this chapter.

Marriage was not something Link contemplated when he freed her from the castle. Up until that point, he had just been following her voice with an urgency he could not explain and a destiny he did not quite understand. And then he met her—clad in dirty ivory with windswept hair—and she was beautiful. Ethereal.  _ Breathtaking _ . His chest felt ready to burst as if it housed thousands of thundering hearts and not just one.

_ She is Zelda,  _ his mind whispered in a series of hushed voices, and he was too enthralled to question it. 

But then he took her hand and the truth became very evident. 

She hated him.

The hate is no longer there as he holds her hand now, but the discomfort is clear. Here, at the altar, before a crowd of hundreds of thousands, he slips a ring onto her fourth finger and recites a traditional vow. She follows suit, speech clear, movements decisive, eyes full of regret.

He imagines her expression would’ve been different, would’ve been full of joy and nervous anticipation, had he been the Knight she so adored. The image is a bit obscured because he has only ever seen such a look in his dreams of a not-so-distant past. Occasionally, he glimpses something similar when she reminisces with Impa or Purah, but with him reticence persists. Everything she gives him is a mere fraction of what she once gave to someone else. Perhaps it’s all that’s left.

She is a queen; tonight, he’ll be crowned king. It’s said that they’re to rule side-by-side in equal power, but when he leans down to seal their marriage, when he relinquishes his soul and molds his lips to hers in a promise of forever, she responds just for show, and the reality is he will never be equal (to  _ him _ ) in her eyes. 

He brushes that detail under the rug because it has always been easier to do so than to accept that his love is wholeheartedly unrequited. Despite all they’ve been through, all they’ve done, she spends more time looking through the windows of his eyes than at the actual person; seeking, yet never seeing. Five years have passed since Calamity’s defeat, and he has hardly left her side since. A knight, a general, and now a king—he’s traversed titles like he did towns just to keep his place next to her, and somehow, it never seems enough. He knows this because he knows her.

And he likes to think he knows her better than anyone else. She scrunches her nose whenever she’s acutely distressed and rambles whenever she gets nervous. Her favorite place on castle grounds is a small garden of medicinal plants she cultivated herself. On long council days, she enjoys unwinding with a book; if he’s lucky, he can lounge on the same sofa as her. Sometimes she’ll put her book down to talk about her life from Before, and she’ll unconsciously play with the loose thread on his uniform if she gets too immersed (“You should get this fixed,” she told him once. He never does.). He hangs on to every word she speaks because he can’t help it, and then hangs on to the way she grabs onto his sleeve once she falls asleep. He knows well the trek from her couch to the bed with her cradled in his arms, and how it’s only in her state of unconsciousness that she whispers,  _ “don’t go.” _ It’s these moments that hint she accepts him in some way, but it’s far from what he truly hopes for.

(And if he had never gotten to savor the suppleness of her skin, hear the vulnerability of her cries, feel the trembling of her grip, then maybe he’d be able to brush these feelings under a rug too. But he knows her— _ taste, sound, touch _ —better than lungs know air.)

Later, they make their rounds to greet the guests. Kass is singing ballads as Amali keeps their daughters distracted at the dessert table. Teba and Harth are discussing different combat strategies with the Gerudo warriors. Yonobo and Prince Sidon are searching for a surface strong enough to hold an arm wrestling match on, which Zelda somehow gently talks down. Throughout their meetings, Zelda is the epitome of grace, laughing when she needs to, stern if required, loving when prompted. She’s so natural at it all that even he almost believes the happiness she’s displaying.

When they reach Riju, the young Gerudo Chief embraces them both, then turns to the Queen to benevolently ask, “Is this what you’ve always dreamed of?” 

“Yes,” Zelda replies, and he wishes he could believe that, too. 

* * *

The first thing she says to him once they’re alone is, “I’m sorry.”

He should be accustomed to this, should know better than to hope for something more kind and genial after the celebration of their marriage. But then again, maybe this  _ is _ her way of being merciful.

Retired for the evening, Link loosens his collar while Zelda discards her mantle. “It’s okay,” he sighs because it’s second nature at this point. “We both know there were no other choices.”

It’s an age old argument. She had spent the better part of their first year trying to convince him to settle back down in Hateno and not follow her on her quest to rebuild the kingdom. But he knew the people, he had argued, and then made himself into an invaluable asset to her. Throughout their travels, they grew more comfortable with each other in the way friends typically did, and occasionally, the way lovers did too. 

But without fail, she kept him at a distance in her heart. There were no interlacing of fingers, no whispers of sweet nothings, no chaste kisses just because. “Unnecessary affection,” she called them, usually when she was in the process of disentangling their limbs and his hands hesitated to let go. Had he been wiser, he wouldn’t have let her use him at whim, but even the Heroes of the past were gifted with courage and not wisdom. 

Sometimes he wondered if people knew, if people saw the disconnect that the old stories never spoke of. After all, “The Princess and the Descendant of the Hylian Champion” did not ring as smoothly as “The Princess and her Appointed Knight.” Did they, too, see him as a mere replacement?

(He recalls Revali’s spirit, who scoffed at him and said, “I guess you’ll do.”)

He is drawn back to the present when Zelda wanders over to her vanity. “I can’t say I looked that hard for alternatives,” she confesses humorlessly, and it’s the closest he’s ever gotten to “I want you around.” She removes her crown and unclasps her jewelry, slightly fumbling only because the fasteners are small. He’d offer to help but her rejection would be instant.

“You didn’t have to. If not your husband, I would’ve stayed your general. I have no intentions of leaving you.”  _ I love you,  _ he leaves off because speaking about his feelings causes her discomfort. Though, to be perfectly honest, it’s not like he ever attempted to keep them hidden in the first place.

She bristles slightly, “Well, everyone’s thrilled,” and purses her lips, “and you deserve it. To be King.”

“I’d be anything you want me to be,” he says easily. Her reservations for him is not due to his lack of trying. “I’m just grateful to be here with you. I’m sure he finds joy in it too.”

This predictably catches her attention and makes her drop her poised façade. It almost doesn’t hurt him anymore. “You can’t hear him?”

“All of them were pretty silent today,” he shrugs. The voices inside his head, the Heroes of distant pasts, speak to him much less now that renovations are near complete. “I hope they don’t stay that way. I could use more pointers on this whole royalty process.”

She chuckles and it’s pathetic how it quickens his heart. “Isn’t that cheating? It’s like reading a very convenient, very short, abridged version of a book.” The pins and clips drop with a clatter on her table as she removes them from her hair, and golden locks tumble down like a waterfall. “That’s hardly fair.”

_ You’re hardly fair,  _ he wants to counter, the beats in his chest stuttering as he follows the flourish of her tendrils. They frame the contours of her face; accentuate the viridescence of her irises as they sparkle at him through the mirror. She’s never been a tease—always straight to the point—so she must not realize what she’s currently doing to him. Not that it would make a difference if she did; he’s already well aware the more enamored he gets, the more excruciating it’ll be later on. It doesn’t stop him from being putty in her hands. 

His grin is strained, “The scholar in you must be writhing.” He watches her lithe fingers work on the laces of her dress, biting down the urge to just waltz over to assist. There’s a simmer of an old, old memory that tells him he’s done so before; has swept her hair to one side and dragged his lips down the expanse of her spine.

“Absolutely.” The dress slides off her shoulder and her corset and petticoat remains. A ghost of a hand slides between the waistband and the dip in her pelvis. “Kass was brilliant today. I feel bad that he performed when he was a guest.”

“He loves it. I’m sure he didn’t mind.” The crinoline sits loose on her hips as she unzips it slower than he would’ve. “I wonder if he’ll devise a piece to capture Calamity’s defeat in whole.  _ The Princess with Two Heroes _ ,” he laughs to hide his parchedness, “Some will surely envy you.”

“Envy the Princess who lost? I highly doubt that.” She smiles wryly, clearly oblivious to his turmoil, “I never understood why the Goddesses seldom allow the Princess and Hero happiness.”

Link sobers up quickly; meets her gaze when she turns to face him. Her eyes are distant and somber, their vibrancy dimmed even in glowing candlelights. He chances a step towards her, then two, then three, until he’s close enough to caress the high arches of her cheeks. He opts for a single knuckle against her chin.

_ But I’m here,  _ he doesn’t say,  _ Let me make you happy.  _

Instead, “You’re alive. You didn’t lose.”

She twists her head away, leaving him grappling at empty space, and murmurs, “With much sacrifice.”

He lets his hand fall back to his side, fingers curled into his palm.

“Everyone, all of  _ us,  _ have sacrifices we must make to ensure Hyrule’s prosperity.” 

Forget the scars and bruises. Forget the number of times he didn’t succumb to a horrific death only because Mipha’s Grace or Fairies wretched him just as violently back to life. His sacrifice has most certainly been his heart, and he nearly asks when it’ll be enough to be worthy of her.

She finishes unlacing her corset and lets it drop to the ground. When she steps out from the billows of white fabric, she is bare and flawless, and he’s suddenly just as breathless as he was the first time he saw her. He’s reminded, once again, that he’s a fiddle in her hands playing tunes at her behest.

Zelda sits at the edge of the bed they’ve shared numerous times before, but only now is it considered theirs. Her brows raise as if asking if he’s going to join her, and he takes a moment to bury his pride and good sense before hastily disrobing to do just that. Like all aspects of their relationship, she takes the lead while he follows blindly. Every touch is precarious until they settle into a comfortable rhythm. She’s on his lap, her fingers in his hair, kissing him slow and purposeful. And then he’s on to his back, pulling her on top of him because he knows she likes to be in control. 

He’s gentle, always gentle, unless she indicates she wants something raw. He gives in to his passion only when she commands him to, only allows himself to bruise her hips when she doesn’t move his hands away. His lips find homage on the sensitive areas of her skin—her neck, her collarbone, the tips of her breasts—to entice the unabated moans that escape her throat. As she climbs to her peak, he feels her squeeze and pulse around him, desperate hands seeking purchase on skin or sheets, teeth biting into his shoulder. It’s his name on her tongue when she cries out, and he pretends it’s really him she’s calling out to.

Her kiss is hungry as she rides out her climax, and he returns it fervently because it’s tempestuous and consuming and some part of it must be real. The man beneath her is real, so the pleasure he gives her has to be too. She tugs harshly at his roots, he nips at her lower lip, and their hips grind roughly as she presses down to draw his release. His groan is muffled against her mouth, and when he says, breathes, whimpers,  _ “Zelda,” _ she pushes into him even harder.

The aftermath is always strange because he desires nothing more than to hold her to his chest and cradle her in his arms. He wants to tell her over and over again that he loves her, regardless of if she ever says it back. He’d find happiness in this one-sided romance if only she’d let him.

But, like most nights, she rolls away, and he turns to face the wall to give her a semblance of privacy. It’s minutes, maybe hours, before he hears the hitch in her breath and the sob she attempts to restrain. His fingers twitch to comfort her but he holds them steady because if solace is something she wanted from him, she would’ve indicated so long ago.

Sleep only comes to him once her sniffles slow and her breathing evens out and he’s sure she won’t wake when he turns to watch her slumber.

* * *

When he dreams, it’s often of past lives.

They come out of order so it’s awhile before he can differentiate the Hyrules in which he lands in. More often than not, he’s a spectator watching a film, and the people interacting before him take no notice of his presence. Sometimes he flips through multiple memories in one night—the Hero of the Skies’, the Hero of Twilight’s, the Hero of Wind’s—and it leaves him in awe at how many faces he’s taken on and how many Zeldas he’s been in love with. They’re all a bit different, each Heroes’ story unique despite the inevitabilities weaved within them. Sometimes, like this time, he sees his Zelda—if he can even call her his—and it’s the worst because she’s with his previous self. And with his previous self, she is radiant.

So unlike when she’s with him.

This time they’re out in a field, one he identifies as Irch Plain because it’s his Hyrule and he knows the country inside and out. Zelda is on hands and knees as she examines a flower known as the Silent Princess. He’s seen the flower before, in a vase inside her study, and she once mentioned the difficulties of cultivating it as a domestic plant. She had not mentioned that it was another memory she shared with her Knight, though he really should’ve guessed. Just as dutiful as ever, the Knight is crouched behind her, following where she leads, and Link is conflicted at the uncanny similarities between them.

In all these memories of this Zelda, she is an eager scholar, excitable and full of emotions. Only remnants of this are visible now, her old books collecting dust in favor of council documents. He’s asked her about this discrepancy once and she waved it off as if it wasn’t his concern, but everything pertaining to her welfare concerns him in the same way it must have concerned her previous keeper.

They’re in the grass now, laughing quietly after Zelda unsuccessfully feeds the Knight a hot-footed frog. She’s propped on his chest and he has a lazy arm around her torso. His free hand comes up to brush her hair behind her ear before he pulls her into a lingering kiss.

The sight nearly makes Link ill. The ease in which the Knight could touch and kiss and hold Zelda is a stark contrast to what he is able to do. Such tender gestures had Zelda reprimanding him (“It’s better if you don’t”) and it’s almost hypocritical the lack of restraint she had with the Knight. Are they not, he and the Knight, of the same essence? What is it about him that makes her so unwilling to open her heart?  _ How, _ when all the other Links and Zeldas have found love in one another without fail?

_ I’m not your Zelda,  _ she has repeatedly told him. Is that the simple truth?

The scene shifts again to an empty white space but they’re still together and he’s ready to wake up to run from the image. They seem to be caught in a mixture of laughter and tears, the Knight with his hand around her waist and the Princess cradling his face. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s affectionate and makes it all the more obvious he's an intruding and unwelcomed bystander.

They don’t seem to notice him, not that they ever do in memories, but something about this scenario seems too real to be the typical dream. There are kisses and more embraces that he turns from, but nothing shields him from the sob that escapes her lips.

“I love you,” she says, not to him, but her Knight, “I’ll always love you.” Jealousy is an emotion he has long since tried to temper, but it’s rearing its ugly head now and he wants  _ out _ and away from the reminder of what can never be his. He’s mere paces from the scene when a firm grip settles on his shoulder, and he turns to meet pools of blue that mirror his own. Briefly, he wonders how often she compares the two when she looks at him. 

Well,  _ this  _ is new. Link has never interacted directly with his past selves. The most it’s ever been were whispers in his ears. He glances around but Zelda is gone. It’s just him and the Knight he’ll never be.

“Take care of her,” the Knight says, his mannerisms soft and soothing, “She needs you.” Link opens his mouth to object, to retort that she can’t possibly need him when she keeps him at a distance, when her heart is so obviously reserved for her Appointed Knight, but his predecessor just shakes his head. “She already loves you. She’s just stubborn. Beautifully so, no?” And the words die on his tongue. Link can only nod as the Knight laughs. “I’ll show you one day—how she used to resent me too. But her soul is kind and her heart is in the right place.”

“I know,” he replies rather obstinately, his envy getting the better of him. Being in the presence of the acclaimed Champion has him doubting his own experience and accolades. Which really doesn’t make sense, since Zelda says his skills, at least some of them (most of them?) came from the Heroes before him.

The Knight brings a hand up to ruffle Link’s hair, and it’s a bit odd because Link is a little taller and technically older. 

“Actually, I’m a hundred years older than you and that makes me your elder,” the Knight snickers as if he can read Link’s thoughts, which would not be far fetched all things considered. “It also means you have a thing for older women, if you think about it, though I guess you can’t help it.”

“One,” he corrects, “And can’t I?”

The Knight gives him a vague shrug and gestures for them to walk, though no destination is apparent in this desolate space of white. “Does it matter?”

He thinks of Zelda. “No, I guess not.”

Somehow, this seemingly meaningless conversation puts Link at ease. He’s heard stories of the Knight’s stoicism and seen first-hand the love the man harbored for Zelda. Link has invariably imagined him as a rival, someone so unbudging that even in death he would put up a fight for his Princess. And yet, here he is, telling Link it’s okay to love her.

“There is but one fight,” the Knight says, and Link doesn’t even find it disconcerting that his thoughts are being read even though the reverse doesn’t hold true, “the fight for Zelda’s safety and happiness. I prioritize that above all else.”

Something about the last statement clues Link into a wildness that seems to reside in the Knight, one he hadn’t noticed before. As Heroes, they are bound to protect Hyrule and the Princess. Usually, the two go hand-in-hand. But if they didn’t, if there had been a choice, would he have—?

“She would’ve been more happy if you were alive,” Link says instead of finishing his thought. The Knight flashes him a smirk.

“Ah, that’s where I’m a bit selfish. I did say safety first.”

There’s a lot implied in his words, a multitude of answers for questions both asked and not. Link recalls the beginning of his journey, the urgency he felt to leave Hateno and to follow the charming voice in his dreams. He had never been able to explain it, not that words could’ve done it justice. 

Something heavy settles in the pit of his abdomen. In the year it took him to complete his quest, desperation had filled him to the core. Sleep didn’t matter, shelter didn’t matter, broken bones didn’t matter. He was on an adrenaline high, perpetually moving, never resting, and it isn’t until now as he looks back on it does he realize how harrowing that year had been—and who or what might have fueled it.

He gives a reluctant sideward glance to his predecessor. “Do you ever wish you were the one…?”

“Do I wish I never failed? Yes,” the Knight answers without hesitation, neither denying nor confirming any suspicions. His eyes are kind but sad as he looks forward. “I used to every day.”

“Used to?”

He smiles almost mockingly. “Had quite a few years to mule over that thought. It was inevitable. Besides, it’s not like she’s alone now.”

Guilt is the new sensation that trespasses through Link. All this time he held resentment and envy for a Knight who surely wants nothing more than to be the one at Zelda’s side. Who, he finally realizes,  _ deserves  _ to be ruling next to her. Someone with such an unwavering dedication that even death did not allow him to rest.

Link suddenly feels unworthy.

“I’m not—she says I’m not,” he swallows harshly, “She says she’s not my Zelda.”

At this, the Knight laughs rather boisterously and once again claps his hand onto Link’s shoulder. In his eyes glitter mirth, understanding, and fondness in equal measures. It makes him look older, wiser, even though he’s stuck in permanent youth.

The Knight sounds proud and resolute, as if he’s merely stating fact, when he says, “She’s always our Zelda.”

It’s those words that resonate as his surroundings dissipate.

* * *

When Link wakes it’s to the touch of her fingers sweeping across his forehead. It’s gentle and new and his heart is palpitating within his ribcage before he even opens his eyes.

But the moment he does, he sees her soft expression and something intangible shifts in the air. She smiles at him and it’s radiant, contagious, and he allows himself to smile back. Their fingers intertwine, and when he goes in to kiss her, she doesn’t shy away.

He breathes her in, relishes the timid touches across his skin, and thinks maybe they can make it work after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added 800 words to this part after posting the first _even though_ technically these are all already finished. Whoops. Next up is Zelda's POV again.


	3. Yours, I Will Always Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you, [Ashley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshleysWrittenWords) and [Embyr](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/246875/).

Sometimes, within Calamity, she dreamed.

She dreamed of falling blue petals; Silent Princesses blooming in abundance. Of a billowing white dress and a long, elaborate train. The Temple of Time loomed tall, eloquently aged and pristine, and lined down its center hall was a rolled out carpet in red. From where she stood at the entrance, the length of the aisle appeared almost ominous. Would she trip and fall? Would she freeze halfway? There were many, many eyes on her and she had to clutch her bouquet to halt the tremors in her hand. 

“Zelda,” came a whisper of a voice, and it should have been impossible to hear it given the distance between them, but she imagined she’d hear him from the other side of the world so long as he was calling out to her. Her head whipped up to meet the blue of his eyes, and they were as clear as the waters of Lake Hylia on a summer day. He stood unwaveringly just off to the side of the altar, posture impeccable, gaze kind and patient. Sheathed at his hip was the Sword that Seals the Darkness, and even it seemed to be illuminating in delight. 

Link lifted an arm, palm up, and beckoned to her.

Her heart fluttered and the blush on her cheeks only accentuated the one painted on. She felt her footsteps glide forward as the rest of the spectators faded into the background. Just the two of them remained. Princess and Knight. Zelda and Link. And Link was magnificent—irresistibly handsome in his white uniform, the gold trimmings and cerulean accents complimenting his features. It took all her willpower to keep from surging straight into his awaiting arms. Just a few more steps and she would be his.

And he, hers. There were vows and other steps in the progression fulfilled, but all she could zero in on was the adoration in his gaze and quirk of his mouth as he lifted the veil from her face. The touch of his lips simultaneously ceased and jumpstarted the beats of her heart, while the security of his hold told her everything would be okay. And she believed it in a way she hardly believed in anything else. She could become the very queen he envisioned her to be as long as he was by her side.

Today, she should have fulfilled that dream. Her gown is white, a crown sits upon her head, and the man at her side wears the Master Sword at his hips. Even the vow she speaks is verbatim to her unconscious thoughts, from its introduction to the name of her soon-to-be-husband.  _ Link. _

And yet, it feels wrong. She’s been preparing for this for months, and it still feels  _ wrong.  _

_ (The eyes are wrong. The hair is wrong. The hands that hold hers are wrong.) _

He is Link, but he isn’t  _ her  _ Link. He was once a knight, but never  _ her Appointed Knight _ . But today he is given titles she has only dreamed of giving her past love. 

Husband. King.

It’s a great political move, one many supported. And if she’s being completely honest, there is no one more worthy than he. 

Yet truths do nothing to quell the sinking in her stomach, nor does it cease the burning in her heart. The match lit in the Batchery Plains has amplified as if the rain had been tinder and Calamity the torch it set aflamed, and even now it’s fire is relentlessly blazing within her ribcage.

(Perhaps she’s protecting it, the remnants of that day.)

She doesn’t remember much of the ceremony or the coronation or the celebration that followed, her state of mind neither here nor there. She was born and raised a princess, has reacquainted herself with royal customs over the last few years, and is able to present herself properly without much thought. If anyone noticed, it would only be Link. He, like the Hero before him, and likely all the Heroes before them with their respective Princesses, keeps a close eye on her demeanor and the nuances she sometimes isn’t aware of herself. It’s a highly sought after trait in a guard. For this Link, it might be considered a curse rather than a blessed skill. 

In the privacy of their bedroom chamber within a castle rebuilt, she discards the fine jewelry and the white gown and meets him on the edge of the bed. Gone, too, is his formal attire, and the Master Sword rests against his nightstand. His hands are on her waist, tentative and unassuming, when he lies back on the bed and pulls her on top. She lets him because duty calls—and because she seeks for an embrace that’s not wholly his. 

It isn’t the first time they’ve laid together. After a century alone, she was touch-starved and he was a constant reminder of what could have been. His caress is gentle; familiar in the sense that he has learned her body and reminiscent in ways only one other should have known. She has long deduced that the mannerism so like her Knight this Link exhibits has much to do with the passion the Knight projects onto the Hero. In intimate situations such as this, she can feel the sliver of his spirit reaching out to her, and she clings on to the sensation of it truly being him in her arms.

_ (It’s  _ **_his_ ** _ lips on her collarbone,  _ **_his_ ** _ fingers digging into her hips, and the name she cries is genuinely  _ **_his_ ** _.) _

It’s a dangerous feeling, one she knows she can’t be too attached to if only to spare this current Hero who loves her. She is not heartless—far from it—and his well-being is something she greatly concerns herself with. He has been her confidant throughout her turmoils, her anchor through the nightmares, a precious companion when she could accept no other. She cares for him deeply, but it isn’t the same— _ can’t _ be the same, and she suspects giving him part of her is worse than giving him nothing at all. And so, she lets herself limbo between loving him and not quite. 

This Link doesn’t hold her unless he’s calming a nightmare, so they lie apart despite the union that just transpired. He’s on his side with his back to her because it’s less painful than watching her wish he is someone else. She stares up at the ceiling because it’s blankness provides a canvas for her to paint pictures of a life long gone and what never came to be.

When sleep finally takes her, her cheeks are wet and the weight in her heart is insurmountable. 

* * *

Dreams, after Calamity, are sometimes of Calamity, sometimes of memories of better days, and sometimes of nothing at all. Initially, this dream seems to fall within the last category—all white space and silence. But then she hears footsteps, a rhythmic cadence too quiet to be just anyone’s, and ones she hasn’t heard in over a century.

His name is on her tongue before she even sees him.

“ _ Link. _ ”

And then he’s there, in front of her, mere paces away and yet much too far, and so she launches herself into his arms without any hesitation. He catches her effortlessly, spins her around with the momentum, and breathes her in like a man starving of breath.

“ _ Zelda, _ ” he sighs, and it’s  _ his _ voice and  _ his _ warmth and  _ his _ touch, and she’s sobbing into his shoulder before she can even stop herself. He holds her steady, fingers running through her hair soothingly until she’s pacified enough to speak again.

“Link,” she says again just to imprint the feeling of calling out his name  _ for  _ him. Her hands are frantic, flying all over his face to soak in his features. The angle of his jaw, the rise of his cheekbones, his lips as they part slightly beneath the light pressure of her thumb. The sense of home and rightness engulfs her. She feels whole again and it’s almost crippling. “Why are you here? What is this place?”

He lets her hand wander as they please, smiling as she traces the embroidery of his Champion’s tunic. She’s wearing her old surveying gear and she loves it because it’s fitting, the way they match. 

“A mental connection between you and the Hero,” he shrugs, then pauses to consider something even as his fingers continue to graze up her arm. “And I guess a wedding present from the Goddesses?”

She scrunches her nose but doesn’t slow her movements, “Please, I rather not be reminded,” and comprehension dawns on her as he leans into her touch, “Wait, do you see  _ everything? _ ” 

He blinks, tapping her nose to release its tension. It works. “I thought you knew?”

She stares at him in complete awe, framing his face between her palms. “I’ve  _ suspected,  _ but it was a  _ hypothesis.  _ Well, now it’s  _ confirmed  _ and—”

And he kisses her. Just like that. To shut her up, she knows, because it’s been an effective method in the past, and she  _ should  _ be angry with him but—

“I’ve missed you, Zelda,” he says against her lips, and it’s so full of emotion that tears threaten to escape her lower lids again, “I’ve missed  _ this  _ and your enthusiasm and the way you used to talk about research. You don’t do that much around this Link.”

She inhales deeply to reign in the flood of feelings and cups the hand that has come to rest on her cheek. His sideburns oscillate faintly when she releases the breath. “I’m a bit different now. A hundred years does that to people.” She says this factually, but it’s not meant to be unkind. “You’ve changed too. You talk more now.”

The azure of his eyes twinkle. That, too, is new. “Are you saying you prefer my silence after trying so hard to get me to talk?” He’s teasing but her response is sincere because every fiber of her being has yearned for him for decades upon decades.

“I prefer you, in any way you choose to express yourself.”

Link’s expression dims but he keeps a small smile on his face. “Much more forward now too.” And then he snickers. “Though not always honest.”

Her brows furrow. “Are you accusing me of lying to you?”

“Not at all,” he chuckles, running his knuckles against her jawline, “I’m quite happy you want me. I just think there’s someone else you also want to keep around. After all, you married him.”

Her mouth drops and he playfully pushes his index against her chin to close it. She swats his hand away, but keeps it entangled within her grasp. “I didn’t marry him to ‘keep him around’! I needed a king and all the tribes respected him. He fits the role.”

“You love him.”

“I don’t,” she sputters, then shoots him a glare. “If you’ve been witnessing everything, then you should know how I’ve been treating him. A far cry from a lover.” He gives her a pointed look. “I mean, from a lover in more than just a physical sense.”

His expression remains disbelieving. “Zelda, you watched me every morning when I trained even before the Yiga incident.”

The denial is at the tip of her tongue, but there’s no point in playing dumb, so she defers to a stubborn, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I was  _ shirtless. _ ” His eyebrows wiggle at her. She flushes.

“So? For all I know, you could have been putting on a show for me.”

“The first time was an accident. Every time after that, not so much,” he quips, not even the least bit ashamed.

She sucks in a sharp breath. “That far back?” He nods and gives her an affectionate once-over as he recalls a memory. She struggles not to get distracted, not to remember the darkened gaze he sent her the first time he caught her spying, and how she had foolishly mistaken it as disdain.  _ All that wasted time.  _ “That might not even mean anything. It could’ve been purely physical attraction.”

The hand on her waist begins thumbing circles against her skin, though she’s not entirely sure when it slipped under her shirt in the first place. He had always been incredibly stealthy—an advantageous trait around enemies, an unnerving one once she realized how deeply he wedged himself into her heart. 

The quirk of his lips catches her attention, and his smirk is alluring, mischievous, captivating. “Are you being truthful, Princess?” he purrs into her ear and hums in satisfaction when it goes red. “I think you liked me more than you let on. Your self-doubt just clouded your perception of it.”

She has nearly forgotten how coy he could be when alone with her, but the shiver down her back promptly reminds her. Ever so exceptionally skilled when he put in the effort, and his effort seems to currently focus on tracing the ridges of her spine. 

“And you think it’s the same now?” she asks quietly, partly mesmerized and partly ashamed. Here she is, reveling in his touch, when she had been in the arms of another just hours before. How can he be so casual discussing her love for someone else?

He nudges her arms in a few different ways and then pulls her into a silent waltz. The rhythm calms her anxiousness but the form puts him much too far away, so she tugs him in close. He looks clearly amused at her actions, but shows his acquiescence by continuing unperturbed. Another wave of peace washes over her as she inhales his scent—all foliage and musk and  _ horses _ —and it’s so  _ him _ she questions if it’s not actually springing from her memories. Link stares at her fondly; has been doing so the entire time if she really wants to take note, and it warms her from head to toe. 

“You love me,” he says so simply that she’s instantly red as wildberries. It’s no secret but hearing it outright causes her steps to stutter. He’s unphased and continues leading her, letting her reset while not ceasing the waltz. She wants to look away to hide her embarrassment, but her desire to re-engrave his image into her memory keeps her from doing so. This might be her last chance; who knows if the Goddesses will ever be so generous as to grant them another meeting like this? It’s moments like these when she wishes she had spent less time taking pictures of the flora and fauna and more time capturing the beauty that is Link. 

“You’re pretty forward now that you’re dead,” she retorts instead of confirming, and he laughs. 

He laughs boisterously, freely, and her heart aches at the sound. Oh, how long has it been since she’s heard it? How much longer will she have to go without? He is stunning, incandescent, and vibrant in ways she’s never seen before. Is this what the Master Sword had kept her from seeing, had kept him from being? If her loneliness is the price paid to lift the burdens off his shoulder, then she embraces it readily.

He stops their dance to cradle her head within both his hands and restates firmly, “You love me,” to which she finally nods, sliding her own hands up and around his torso.

“I do.”

He’s beaming at the admittance, grin just a bit smug. “You love me  _ a lot. _ ”

She tries to pull her face free but he doesn’t let her. “So what?” 

“So you won’t let yourself love someone else, even though you could. Even though you do.” His expression turns a bit somber, smile rueful. “But I hate to say that I kind of enjoy the way you’re always looking for me.”

Her cheeks pink again. “Do you... _ Can  _ you feel it every time he and I…”

It’s silly that she’s feeling bashful when she’s been the one so obviously trying to draw him out, but asking the love of her life if he can feel her having sex with someone else makes it excusable in her opinion. 

Link appears to mull over the words in his head. It’s deceptively nonchalant. “Only about as much as you can feel me.” But then his arms drop to her waist to pull her flush against his chest, lips finding purchase on her throat. She’s immediately breathless, and there’s a hint of desperation in the raspiness of his voice. “It’s enthralling experiencing you again, Zelda, especially after believing it was impossible. It might not be as potent as this is right now, but I would chase you until the end of time. You know that.”

She does. And it’s doing nothing to make her want to love another.

“But it’s not good for you, and more than anything, I want your happiness.” The blues of his eyes are alight with insistence as his gaze bores into hers. “Let yourself love again, Zelda.”

Her heart  _ throbs  _ because dear Goddesses, all she wants is to love  _ him.  _ To have  _ him  _ by her side once again. 

“I can’t.”

“You can.” His grip tightens around her. “You have so much more you can give, and it’s okay to give it.” She feels his fingers drawing circles on to her back and her own fists into his shirt. “He’s waiting for you.”

There’s a long silence as she listens to his breathing to temper the erratic beats beneath her sternum. His gentle caress along her spine is soothing and reassuring, and she finds it astonishing how, even now, he can easily subdue her worries. Over a hundred years apart, yet he still knows her best. There’s comfort in that thought.

She weathers her lower lip, resting her chin on a spot above his shoulder and really letting his words sink in. He’s right because he’s always right, but she doesn’t think she can ever truly let him go. How can she with his soul so close by? “It won’t be the same.”

He nods in agreement, turning his head to place a kiss on her temple. “I know. I’m sure he knows too.” A kiss next to her ear. “I’m sorry I left you behind.” He angles them so that he can lean his forehead against hers and nuzzles her nose gently. “If I had a choice, I would never leave you.”

“Not leaving me is what got us in this predicament, Link,” she scoffs halfheartedly, and he merely grins.

“I don’t regret it, love.” Her gaze softens at that and it mirrors in his eyes. One hand leaves her hip to brush the hair away from her face before curling around the back of her neck. His breath is hot on her lips when he whispers, “I love you,” and then all she can feel and taste and breathe in is the familiarity of his essence that no length of time can make her forget.

“I love you,” he repeats in the small, infrequent gaps when they gasp for air, “I love you.”

She doesn’t even know when it started, but tears are torrenting down her face, and his thumbs sweep again and again across the breadth of her skin to greet them.

“I love you,” she chokes out, sobbing between kisses, “I’ll always love you.”

His smile is sad, knowing, and understanding all at once. 

She feels herself waking and panic immediately envelops her. She doesn’t want to be torn away from him, not again, and when he grabs the wrists of hands clutching too tightly to his tunic, she’s afraid he’s going to do just that. But once he loosens her grip, he brings her arms around his shoulders until they hook behind his neck. His arms return to her waist and their hold is firm and loving and everything she wishes she sought more for when he was still alive. 

“I will always be with you,” he murmurs into her hair, “Through him, I can watch you be the queen you rightfully are. I can watch you mother children and teach your daughters how to handle their powers. I can watch you grow old, finally at peace once the burden of responsibilities lift.”

She shakes her head, the movement stunted with how pressed she is into the crook of his neck. “I never imagined all this—I never  _ wanted  _ all this without you. It’s supposed to be  _ you— _ ” But he cuts her off with a shake of his own head and his hands come up to cup her cheeks. 

“Be brave, my Zelda,” he says, encourages, and then he’s kissing her again. The finality of it makes her legs give out, but he catches her like he always does, keeping her tall and upright upon his unwavering support. “Be happy.”

* * *

When she wakes up, she is greeted with the sight of messy hair the color of chocolate and a face harrowed with experience but that still retains a semblance of innocence. She reaches a hand to brush a fallen strand from his forehead, and bright blue eyes flutter open at her touch. 

Her breath catches in her throat and for the first time since Calamity, her heart doesn’t burn. “Hey.”

He stares at her, slightly bewildered as he studies her expression. And then he smiles at her in such a way that she can’t help but think it— _ this _ —is something worth nurturing after all. It’s not the same, will never be the same, but it’s a new beginning nonetheless. 

“Hey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighttt. One left. Next part is in Old-Link's POV and we'll actually be backtracking because a portion of it will parallel with part 1. It's actually the very first part I wrote (then 1, 3, and finally 2), and hopefully will not require as much editing as the last two part have.


	4. Even in Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Does this sentence make sense?" "Should I say it like this or like this?" -Me, to [Embyr](https://embyrinitalics.tumblr.com/) and [Ash](https://ashleyswrittenwords.tumblr.com/), all the time.

The legends are elusive and dubious. They speak of the Hero and Princess who are fated to meet, about their success in vanquishing evil and bringing peace to the land—about how it all _(endlessly)_ repeats. Hardly do they speak of the aftermath, of what becomes of the Hero and the Princess. Do they find love? Are they tragically forced apart? All else is left unspoken; the remains, buried.

No one ever talks about what it is like in death.

When he pulled the Master Sword, he began hearing voices. At first, he figured it was the rumored voice-within-the-sword, but soon realized there were two distinct sounds. The sword, he identified, had a higher intonation. The other was akin to a collection of voices that resembled his own. Perhaps the pressure of being the Chosen One was simply driving him to the edge of sanity, or so he thought.

But once he met his Princess, he began to dream. Of places like Hyrule yet not the one he had grown accustomed to. He saw himself, but he wasn’t quite himself. And he would see Zelda, but she too, did not look like  _ his  _ Zelda.

It only hit him who was actually speaking to him when Zelda was being attacked by the Yiga Clan. Never had his body moved so fast, his mind blank yet simultaneously filled with the urgency to  _ save her.  _

_ You have to save her. _

The voice was demanding, desperate, and he knew it was no coincidence how his and its desires aligned.

(And when she was safe and had all but collapsed in his arms afterwards, his whole body, mind, and  _ soul  _ sighed in boundless relief.)

He started calling it “the Links,” because that was what it was. The voice was not one being, but the collective lives of his past selves. Most of the time, they stayed silent, aside from the occasional dreams. Other times, they were a constant mumurring in the back of his mind. He noticed these times coincided with his moments with Zelda and amplified on the occasions his lips lingered a little too long on her knuckles, or when her hand trailed achingly slow up his forearm before wrapping around his elbow. He was her escort to a ball once, and when they danced, he felt the steps of those who came before him and the girl in his arms was his Zelda and not her all at once. They were all beautiful in their own ways, and he felt his other selves rejoicing in the contact and memory of older, happier times. But when she smiled, she was as dazzling as the sun, and he knew it would always be her, _his_ Zelda, that took his breath away.

He had to wonder though if the tightness in his chest and the nerves tickling his skin were feelings of his own or the deep-seated yearning of his predecessors. And honestly he couldn’t care less when her lips were on his and her fingers were threaded through his hair. He was completely at peace with being doomed to love only her.

_ You can fall in love with others,  _ one of the Links said, and it was rare that any of them would answer a direct question of his. Before he or any one of them could ask why, that Link continued.  _ Sometimes it’s not meant to be. _

It was not meant to be this time either.

In some ways, he was glad how he went. He was able to protect her until the end while simultaneously witnessing the unlocking of her powers. He was happy that she, at the very least, was okay—alive. But he wished his falling could have saved her from her century of imprisonment, saved her from the heartbreak and loneliness she had to endure. His heart ached when he couldn’t be with her even in spirit.

No, the legends never divulged what life would be like after death.

At first, it seemed like his soul clung to the sword, but he couldn’t speak to her like Fi seemed to be able to do. As Zelda struggled onto her feet to bring the Master Sword back to its resting place, he watched her. Watched her cry and stumble yet continue to push forward. He couldn’t help but be proud of her; he knew, no matter what it took or how long, she would succeed in her destiny. 

When the sword was back in its pedestal, he felt like he was being thrown elsewhere. For a moment, he was able to see her path, her walk to the castle, and her containment of Calamity as its dark aura engulfed her. She kneeled and her hands clasped in prayer, but before he could even reach out to her, everything went black.

When he woke up, it was white. He had no idea where he was or how much time had passed. He still had his champion tunic, but it no longer had the stains and tears from his fight with the guardians. That was a relief, because Zelda had embroidered it herself, and he reveled in having this momento of her.

_ Zelda.  _

For a second, he became quite frantic, because  _ where is Zelda?  _ He had last seen her being swallowed up by Calamity and he couldn’t possibly just leave her all alone in there. His feet moved on their own, running in some vague direction of forward, calling her name.

What he heard in response was not unfamiliar. A murmur of voices.

His pace slowed, and emerging from the white space, like mist dissipating, were figures not unlike his own.

He didn’t know if he recognized them from his dreams or because they shared the same original soul, but he instantly knew they were the Links. They all turned their attention towards him, eyes somber and understanding. 

_ You’ll be okay,  _ they seemed to say.

_ But what about Zelda,  _ he wanted to know. What was going to happen to his Zelda?

And the group before him just laughed. Not cruelly, but in an endearing way.  _ She’ll be okay. Our Zeldas are strong. _ He didn’t doubt that.

As he spent time with his former selves, he learned all their stories. There were so many of them, and the legends certainly didn’t do them justice. He learned that sometimes, the Hero and the Princess were allowed to love, but most times, they were not.

But sometimes, most times, perhaps all times, they did their best to steal moments of happiness before the world ripped them apart.

Time was strange, wherever he was. There was no day and night, and he was told his interpretation of time would be flawed. So he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he began to relax, to accept that the burden of duty was finally lifted from his shoulders. He was still the most quiet out of all of them, but eventually, he opened up more (not that they needed to know much about him considering they seemed to have watched his life through his own eyes). He still thought of his Zelda often, but he was confident she was in no immediate danger.  _ She can handle herself,  _ they all assured him, and he knew the tenacity his Princess had.

Then one day, the whiteness began to clear, and as if he was looking through someone else’s eyes, he saw...a ceiling?

And then a cry. The sound of a baby crying.

_ A new hero has been born,  _ Twilight said. They called each other by their Hero names to avoid confusion. For some reason, they called him “Wild,” though he wondered if it was because he failed and a kingdom had not been saved. How could he still be considered a Hero?

( _ You didn’t fail,  _ Time had told him once.  _ Everything is by design. _ He didn’t know how to feel that the events in his life were inevitable.)

He watched as this newborn received the  _ (inevitable) _ name of “Link” and watched him grow throughout the years. He grew up in the small town of Hateno that was left largely untouched by Calamity. That’s right—this was  _ his  _ Hyrule. And suddenly, he knew exactly the path his successor would follow.

Even so, nothing could have prepared him from hearing her voice again.

_ Link, I need your help.  _

Her voice resounded in his mind while the boy was sleeping, and he, Wild, didn’t know if the boy woke up from hearing Zelda or from how  _ he  _ jolted at the sound.

_ Zelda!  _ He shouted back, desperately hoping she could hear him, but one look at his fellow Heroes signified that it was futile. For the first time in what must have been decades, he felt an anger unrepressed.

_ Wild, the time will come when you’ll see her again. Until then, it’s our duty to guide this boy.  _ He doesn’t remember who had spoken to him at that time, but he had shrugged their hand off his shoulder. They didn’t understand. Yes, they were dead.  _ He  _ was dead. And unlike their Zeldas,  _ his  _ Zelda was still alive and needed him.

_ It’s not you she’s calling out to,  _ snapped Twilight. Out of all the Links, he got along with Twilight the most, but his distraught was not placated. 

He turned and grabbed Twilight by his shirt.  _ But it’s supposed to be!  _

They were all silent for a moment, perhaps letting the difference between him and them finally sink in. Twilight gently pried his hand away from his collar.  _ Then help him save her.  _

He sighed in resignation and conceded. Out of all of them, he was the best swordsman, having been raised a knight in a legacy of knights. He would not let this boy fail like he had.

It took longer than he anticipated, but after finding Impa and freeing the Divine Beasts, after obtaining the Master Sword and allowing the boy to feel them as an existence and not mere instinct, they were finally,  _ finally  _ going after Calamity. He was finally going to free Zelda.

And now, here they are, watching as she stands before them, tall and regal as if she hadn’t just been freed from a hundred year prison, as if she hadn’t just sealed the incarnation of evil that had devastated her land. Although she isn’t facing towards them, she is as ethereal as he remembers her, and he wonders if the boy’s palpitating heart is the result of _ his _ century old affections for her or a newfound attraction unique from his.

“Uh, Zel—Princess Zelda, are you okay?” the boy clumsily inquires, and  _ he  _ almost winces because the voice used is too loud in the presence of royalty. There wasn’t time to teach him propriety in addition to combat skills, but vague memories seem to ambush him because he instantly drops to one knee. When Zelda turns, his head is bowed, his right forearm is resting on his propped knee, and his left hand is settled on the other thigh. He hears her take a sharp intake of breath; through his bangs, he sees her fists clenching.

The silence is deafening and he nearly wills the boy to look up. When she speaks, her voice is soft and hoarse, unpracticed during her stasis. She doesn’t answer his question.

“I’ve been watching over you all this time. I always believed that you would find a way to defeat Ganon.” Though not unkind, she is proper and detached, an echo of how she used to treat him when he was first assigned her appointed knight. It sounds strange to his ears. “Thank you, L-” a pause, an almost choked breath, “Hero of Hyrule.”

And suddenly, her legs give out from underneath her, and he all but berates the boy for being too slow to catch her. Nonetheless, the new Hero places one tentative hand on her shoulder, the other proffered to help her stand. 

“You must be tired,” he says, and nearly groans at his obvious statement ( _ we do this in every lifetime,  _ Sky smirks). “Let me help you onto Epona.” 

She looks at him, long and hard, her emerald eyes barely veiling their contempt, before she takes his hand. He wraps one of her arms around his shoulders and braces her against his sides. Her proximity makes the boy nervous, but for  _ him _ , it feels like home.

The boy uses his free hand to whistle and a dark steed comes rushing in. He helps her mount Epona, and then hesitates from removing his hands from her hips. “W-Will you be okay by yourself?”

Her gaze is stern, tone clipped. “Yes.” The boy is taken aback, but hides his grimace, unsure of what he has done to catch the Princess’s ire. He lets go and tugs on the reins, leading them to Kakariko. It makes the most sense to visit Impa first, and the Princess does not seem to disagree.

It is then, when the boy relinquishes his hold on Zelda and a feeling of emptiness washes over him, does he notice all the other Links had gone quiet during the exchange. Had they even been in the room—this space between existence? He had been too focused on the familiarity of her warmth to pay mind to the others.

_ Isn’t it obvious,  _ Wind asks, bemused,  _ Zelda’s past lives reside in her too.  _

He understands then that the growing murmurs he used to hear were not so much an increase in volume but an increase in the number of voices, delighting in a temporary reunion. Silence greets him because his partner in time remains among the living. 

It’s been awhile since his failure plagued him.

Night falls and they set up camp. Zelda starts the fire before positioning herself on the opposite side of her companion. His heart aches at the small form she takes on, arms wrapped around her knees. A hundred years ago, he would have embraced her, but now, although their souls are bound, the Hero before her is a stranger.

And as if they had shared that thought at the same time, her eyes squint and she turns her head away.

_ Oh, Zelda.  _ His beautiful, impossibly stubborn and relentless Zelda. She is still trying to hold herself together when she could have given into her feelings and weariness had  _ he  _ been  _ him.  _ Had it been her Knight with her and not a Hero reborn. He would have punched a wall if he could.  _ Useless, _ he is.

He doesn’t know if the boy is sensing his turmoil or hers, but he starts conversing with her. At first, her responses are short, terse, but then she appears to regroup and reassess her behavior. He finds it endearing; reminiscent of her princess days.

“I apologize for my behavior today,” she starts, tone steady and having smoothed throughout their conversation. Before the boy can protest, she holds a hand up to stop him. “I have been unfairly rude to you due to personal frustrations.”

“It’s fine,” he says simply, but she shoots him a disbelieving look. He ignores it. “What will you do now, Princess?”

She tells him her destiny is not complete and how she plans to rebuild the kingdom to reunite the five races. She is tired but hopeful; after all, she still has allies within the Sheikah. He offers his opinions based on what he learned throughout his travels; though she had seen him, her view was not always omniscient. She comments that he appears to be well liked, and then lets it slip that it had been the same with his predecessor. 

Speaking about the Link from a hundred years ago freezes her mid-speech. The tears in her eyes are instant but she doesn’t let them fall. She won’t look at his face, and it doesn’t take a Sheikah scientist to understand her anguish.

“I’m sorry I’m not him.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because she stands up and turns away from him. Her arms hang by her side, knuckles whiter than her dirt covered dress as her fingers clench together. The breath she releases is shaky.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she asks, voice unsteady. “It’s because I failed him. He  _ died  _ protecting me because  _ I couldn’t unlock my powers in time _ .”

Her words are ice to him.  _ Oh Goddesses, Zelda, no. You could never fail me. _

He wants to hug her, squeeze her tight. Wants to unfurrow her fingers so her nails will stop biting into her palm, and then lace his own fingers between hers. When she turns back around and brokenly whispers her feelings for him, for her Knight, the sharp pain in his chest rips like a knife through them all.

He loves her. He loves her so much and he wills the boy to let her know that. He loves her more than his own life, more than the whole world if his last actions had anything to say about it. He would have sacrificed all of Hyrule had it meant she would be safe. Perhaps it’s heresy to think such thoughts and he had been struck down because of it, but he doesn’t care and would do it again if he must. After all, here she is,  _ alive. _

He doesn’t know when she approaches them, but her hand is on his cheek and there is a jolt in the boy’s heart. She explains the basics of their eternal reincarnation, and understanding dawns on this Hero of Hyrule. Every unprecedented sense of dread and moments of intuition, every natural swing of his sword. Like all others had done before him, he wonders which part of him belongs solely to him, which is he an imitation of?

“You are your own person,” she says with conviction, “and you are free to continue to be. Even though the previous Link swore an oath to me, I hope you know I do not expect you to abide by it.” She looks at him pleadingly, but they don’t entertain her thoughts.

She wants him to leave, but he can’t,  _ won’t _ , and this boy, this Hero, will do no such thing either. Zelda is mistaken; neither he nor the other past lives are interfering with his decision. He had been bound by this destiny from the moment he was born, and the thought of leaving her brings terror to his being for reasons unknown to him.

But  _ he  _ knows and the rest of the Links know. This boy can no more hope to not love her than he can stop his need for air.

His choice seems to break her and her hand falls from his face.

“I don’t know how to accept you,” she chokes out, and he hears the mantra she’s repeating in her head:  _ you’re not him.  _ “This has never happened before.” 

“It’s okay.” He tries to sound reassuring, but she shakes her head, fingers once again clenching. This time, they dig into her dress. 

“You don’t understand.” She doesn’t yell but her tone is stern. “It shouldn’t have been you. You shouldn’t have had to suffer this fate. If I had activated my powers sooner, you could have led a normal life. At the very least, I—” she sucks in a deep breath, “—I shouldn’t be the Zelda you were meant to save.”

_ You’re always my Zelda,  _ he wants to say, but the boy she sees doesn’t know this yet.

Zelda turns away and readies the bedroll, tucking herself in under the covers and signaling the end of their discussion. She lies still save for the slight shake in her shoulders. He imagines pulling her close and resting his cheek against hers as sleep temporarily takes her from the pain.

The days come and go and the Hero and the Princess cultivate a somewhat amicable relationship. The Princess talks more freely, but keeps it impersonal. The Hero tries to uphold whatever gestures and propriety he had glimpsed from his previous life, but the Princess tells him to “disregard those rules; there is no throne and you are no knight.” They make it to Kakariko before going to Hateno. She stays in the house he had commissioned Bolton to build, for this purpose, prior to facing Calamity. He stays there too when the nightmares and loneliness prove to be too much for her. 

The Hero doesn’t hold her, and  _ he  _ is nearly driven mad by this fact. So long it had taken him to gain her trust and affection, to feel the softness of her skin against his, her breath on his lips. For a century he had gone without her touch, and he no longer wants to be denied of it. But he is forced to rein in his feelings, lest he projects them through the boy. Already, he lingers too close to her.

Perhaps it’s too late. Lately, they would feel her eyes on him, observing, analyzing. On several occasions, the boy would catch her stare but she never looks away. She meets his gaze evenly, studying his expression, as if she’s searching for something. Or rather, someone.

_ She’s looking for me,  _ he realizes, and multiple scoffs echo within his vicinity.

_ Too curious, this Zelda,  _ Wind remarks,  _ too smart. _

_ Surely, she has met her others by now,  _ Twilight reasons.  _ How else would she have endured a century in solitude? The Goddesses are not that cruel. _

_ The Goddesses  _ **_are_ ** _ that cruel,  _ he wants to counter, but he is quickly distracted by her physical proximity. It’s day five in their Hateno home and Zelda has her hands cupping the boy’s cheeks. The boy barely stutters out her title before she kisses him.

The sudden feeling is paradoxically potent and nonexistent all at once.

It’s like having her lips on his all over again, just like a hundred years prior, and yet the space before him is vacant. He feels her softness, her urgency, her loneliness despite finally having a companion, but he can’t assuage the desolation in her heart. Part of him feels guilty because he has failed her once, is currently failing her again, and yet she still desires him. Guilty, because he knows the boy has already started to catch feelings, and this intimate action is leaving him flustered. Guilty, because the one she wants is _her_ _Knight_ , and not the Hero that saved her. And _this_ they are all aware of. 

A larger part of him is relishing in her touch, in the familiarity of it, in its affinity and affection. It lights his,  _ their _ , blood on fire, and he— _ they _ —instinctively grab her hips to draw her closer. In this kiss, he hears everything she doesn’t say, as if she can feel him too.  _ I should have let you in sooner. I should have held you longer. I should have told you I loved you. _

_ I know,  _ he wants to tell her,  _ I know because I feel the same. _

When they pull apart, he sees a flicker of recognition in her eyes, and he hopes and prays that she sees the words he never chanced to tell her.  _ I love you.  _

But perhaps she doesn’t, because she recoils just a bit and looks away. Possibly confused, possibly ashamed. Maybe she knows what she’s doing to the poor boy that didn't deserve to be dragged into the mess they left, that doesn’t deserve to live in the shadow of a dead man. Maybe this is causing her to doubt her ability to move forward and fulfill the remainder of her destiny. He wishes he could tell her it’s okay to mourn, okay to take things slow. If only he could bring her in his arms, like those private nights eons ago, and soothe her with sweet nothings. She is brilliant and beyond perfect, and if anyone could bridge the gap between the lands, bridge the gap between the present and the past, it would be her.

But then she looks back at him— _ them _ —defiantly, and he knows, and he  _ sees _ , that she will be alright. His Zelda is strong, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular part was actually one of the first things I wrote for the LoZ fandom, so I drew a lot of inspiration from existing works:
> 
> — [The Quiet River Rages](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326041) by MaryDragon  
> — [Calamitous](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12820537/1/Calamitous) by embyr-75  
> — [Order Up!: Voices](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13525620/11/Order-Up) by Lyxie  
> — [“My Zelda” Comic](https://mobile.twitter.com/loz_017/status/992594246363299840) by loz_017 on Twitter (translated by perepreden)  
> — [Linked Universe](https://linkeduniverse.tumblr.com/) by jojo56830
> 
> This was originally made to be a standalone, but you can’t mess up the reincarnation pattern and not expect repercussions, so I posted several things on [my Tumblr](https://intangiblyyourswrites.tumblr.com/post/622553803165777920/even-in-death-part-4-of-4) detailing my thoughts behind this, including a [sequel drabble](https://intangiblyyourswrites.tumblr.com/post/622553841922113536/zeldas-legacy) set a few thousand years down the road, and plans for a _(possible/eventual)_ multi-chapter sequel to that. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I had hoped for this to be a little more lighthearted than the rest. Maybe?


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